


Picture of Success

by shrink



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrink/pseuds/shrink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren uncovers that Hux is either defecting from the First Order or making a rare misguided decision. Either way, he's stepping in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture of Success

**x** **.**

Hux took another slow sip of his drink, resisting the urge to down it. He hated everyone sitting at the tight wooden tables around him; bounty hunters, spice dealers, and the worst offenders of them all; the drunks eyeing the gyrating Twi'lek girl on stage. As if life was a leisure palace; the only purpose to keep the pleasures coming. He sneered and turned his head back to the empty seat across from him, the weight of his decision to come here growing heavier by the minute.

It wasn’t that he was worried about being caught; he was sure that no one would recognize him out of his uniform. Christ, half his crew probably wouldn’t. Still, he raked a hand through his ginger bangs to pull them further over his eyes. He’d never thought of his uniform as something to hide behind, but now with his coat replaced by a smuggler’s jacket, it was hard to see what separated him from the outlaws surrounding him. He shifted in his chair and refocused his attention on reflection of the dingy overhead glowpanels rippling across the surface of his drink.

This all should have ended days ago when a report had come to him that a resistance group was forming among defected First Order officers. It was standard procedure to order a squadron of Stormtroopers to eliminate threats like that. It _should_ have been procedure anyway, because there wasn’t any decision to make — that’s the beauty of rules, of order.

But the name of the group’s leader had caught his eye before the command left his lips. Jenson Enzo, a First Order Captain who had defected months ago. At the time, Hux hadn’t dwelled on the fact that Enzo had been his roommate at the Academy. Enzo’s wild smile and soft eyes seemed very far away from him while he was being briefed on his desertion, just one more headache among a litany of other emerging crises. But instead of acting on the report detailing his involvement with the resistance group, blowing the coordinates of the group’s base to dust and moving on with his duties, he’d concealed it.

Imagining Enzo patching together a coup against the First Order, against him, was perversely entertaining. He had the power to crush them all — like insects he was keeping under a cup. Every day he’d seek more intelligence on the group to see how they were progressing, as if daring himself to see how far he’d let them go. It was a small reprieve from the endless corridors his boots smacked down every day, the monotonous salutes, the exhausting sessions with Snoke — Hux’s eyes falling back to the floor when he turned to leave the chamber.

It wasn’t long before following the group’s movements became his sole focus. Even during his shifts on the bridge he was strategizing possible ways the group could succeed in ideal and far-fetched scenarios. He imagined Enzo leaning over him as he lay on the floor of the ship, at his old friend’s mercy, the lights of the failing bridge monitors flickering around them. It was a dark daydream that left him unable to focus on anything else — rendering the tactical decisions his duties required less than precise. Not enough that anyone had noticed though sometimes Ren’s gaze lingered too long. He’d dismissed such looks with a jut of his chin or a tight stare of his own at his datapad. Still, his momentary lapse of certainty in his decision-making had led to him uncharacteristically delegating some of his responsibilities to those below him. It was a temporary fix he knew wasn’t sustainable.

Surely everyone deserved one moment of weakness. Hadn’t he earned that much after his years of loyalty? All the sacrifice, sleepless nights, and quiet moments he had to remember that what he was working for was bigger than himself.

That night, Hux had contacted Enzo through discrete channels and set up the meeting at the cantina. Then he’d mapped out the route and rehearsed his words until the trip seemed like an inevitability. No one questioned his need for a private shuttle. He’d left ambiguous instructions with necessary crewmembers who assumed he was on a classified mission. No one knew he was alone or that he’d be changing out of his uniform on the shuttle. And certainly, no one knew who he’d be meeting with, the act alone was treason.

The only person he’d worried about slipping past had been Ren — which was why he’d left during his sleep cycle. His masked face was impossible to read, which must be a luxury when you’re committing acts of violence. Hux slid a hand over his own face, expecting to feel something hardened from years of composure. He was tired just thinking of it; the feeling dissipating into the deeper exhaustion that seemed to be a permanent part of his body now.

He looked back at the catina’s entrance — forcing himself to be in the moment, to relax his rigid posture. Forgoing a security detail meant he was responsible for his own safety, something he was out of practice with doing. The weight of the blaster against his thigh seemed almost absurd. But the trip had been as dull as it’d been useless. Enzo wasn’t coming. He had probably thought this was a trap from the beginning. Hux stood up, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

“Giving up on me so soon?” a man said, sliding into the seat across from him. Enzo had hardly changed, a crooked smile split across his face. But his dark hair had grown out covering his ears, its shape still leaving a hint of how it’d been regulation cut.

“After thirty minutes of waiting, anyone would,” Hux said, shooting a distasteful glance at the mug of lomin ale that Enzo had placed on the table.

“I’m loving the look,” Enzo said scanning the black jacket and gray tunic visible beneath it. Hux resisted the urge to tug the jacket tighter.

“I wouldn’t need to take such precautions if there was any respectable place you could show your face.”

Enzo only shot him an amused look. “If I remember, there was a time when you enjoyed the occasional trip to the cantina. From the bags under your eyes, I’d say you’re still used to late nights.”

“You can speak to me with an appreciation for my standing.”

Enzo used to call him charming. But charm was just another part of him that had faded from disuse. Enzo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression closed. “Okay _General_ , why are we here?”

Hux pulled a datapad from his pocket and slid it across the table. “This report crossed my desk.”

Enzo flicked through it. It was intel marking him and his associates as a potential threat. It detailed recent weapons purchases and at least one attempt to hack into the First Order’s mainframe. “And?”

“And?” Hux snorted, “You’re encouraging a coup.”

“So Snoke sent the General himself to snuff it out?”

“The Supreme Leader’s directives are of no concern to you.” Hux smoothed a hand over his hair, pushing it back before it fell back over his eyes.

Enzo raised an eyebrow as if he was seeing Hux clearly now. Putting together that he had come alone, in secret, without a plan.

“I’m here as a courtesy to you.” Hux ran his eyes over the other man’s face. “End this. And go back to doing whatever it is defectors do — but keep away from the First Order and in turn, your lives will be spared.”

Enzo leaned across the table, his shoulders pinching together, blue eyes earnest and voice quieter now. “It’s not a coup against the First Order, it’s a coup against _Snoke and his Knights of Ren_.”

The back of Hux’s neck prickled with the heresy of the words he was hearing. Ren’s face flashed through his mind; there was an uncomfortable wrongness in grouping him with Snoke. But he couldn’t explain the feeling if he tried. He focused instead on Enzo’s fingers gripping the side of the table, as he continued.

“Don’t you think that our military was more powerful before these wizards appeared — giving orders, inserting their own agendas and apprentices into _our_ ranks? We aren't defectors, we're First Order loyalists. And we want Snoke removed from power. We don’t want to take orders from someone who can’t show their face.”

“I’ve seen it,” Hux said lifting his chin. It wasn't blind loyalty. His need to defend Snoke stemmed from a much more pressing desire to defend himself.

“A holoprojection? A cloaked face? Whispering orders to _you_ — a general who has _earned_ his way to the top.”

The words were theatrical, like Enzo was in a holovid delivering lines and Hux could see right through the cheap acting. He tore his eyes away from his old friend. “I didn’t come here to listen to your pitch speech to wayward officers.”

Enzo leaned back now, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then _why_ did you?”

As a policy, Hux didn’t acknowledge direct questions, especially ones he didn’t know they answer to. “Look, every leader believes their cause is worthwhile. But righteousness, real or imagined doesn’t save lives.”

Enzo let out a laugh that sounded like a bark. He refilled his glass and took a deep gulp. “And you’re here to save me — from — _who_ — you?”

“It won’t be my choice.”

“You’re so predictable,” Enzo said, forcing a laugh for an imaginary audience. “You got what you wanted; a chance to give me fair-warning before you send someone else to kill me.”

Hux took a breath. “I came here at great personal risk to give you this piece of advice.”

“Your diplomacy skills are lacking, Armitage, your _advice_ sounds like a threat.”

Hux leaned back in the booth, the futility of the trip hitting him. His mouth was dry, and he reached for his drink. What had this been about anyway? Even now, sitting across from Enzo, he wasn’t sure.

Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw someone twist around in their stool to stare at him. He was too hot under his jacket and brought his palm up to conceal his face.

“Once again Captain,” Hux sighed, “you fail to grasp the nuance of a situation.”

“I’m getting a lesson in nuance from _you_?” Enzo’s mouth was a sneer and Hux felt frozen on the spot, his throat tight.

They fell into a silence that Enzo seemed to be controlling while he finished his drink. Hux was searching for words that might make this end how he’d wanted it to. But despite his fixation with this meeting on the Finalizer he couldn’t remember now how it was he wanted this to end. He could only think of the dramatic scenes he’d envisioned in his head, where conversation wasn’t necessary. He wondered how he’d allowed reality to blur and fought the urge to massage the migraine flaring in his temple.

“At the Academy,” Enzo said, with a slur to his words now, “I told myself you were just always trying to please your father.” He leaned forward, waving a hand through the air. Hux thought he would touch him, grab his hand or cup his cheek even, but he didn’t do either. “You were never that complicated. You liked it — the sense of order and discipline — never having to think for yourself. That’s why you’re the fucking General now. That’s why you _like_ Snoke giving you orders. You’re a leader in title only.”

“Enough,” Hux said, his voice hitching too loud. He suddenly missed his gloves and curled his fingers into fists. “I came here to pay respect to our history. It was — an error in judgment.”

Hux stood, as if remembering himself, and walked to the door.

He knew Enzo was following him, felt the tight grip when it closed around his arm. Hux spun around, his eyes narrowed and defiant.

“ _Get off of me_ ,” he spat, knowing the gaze of everyone in the room was on him. His head was spinning with anger at himself for allowing this to happen. Enzo released him only to pull a blaster from his pocket. The music had stopped now and everyone was twisted around in their seats to stare at them.

“I could kill you where you stand,” Enzo said, suddenly completely sober, “but you’re more valuable as a tool of negotiation.”

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, like the throb of Stormtroopers marching in formation. He reached for his weapon but before he could draw it Enzo fired his own blaster, the shot hitting Hux in the arm. His breath left him as the white hot pain seared through his mind. His eyes were wide as he raced to find a way out of this. He stumbled back into the table behind him, empty glasses crashing onto the floor at his feet. The drinkers protests rang oddly in his ears, like they were speaking something other than Basic -- or maybe the ringing was inside his own head.

“There are Stormtroopers surrounding this cantina,” Hux bluffed, trying to stand tall while the blood pooled under his sleeve. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Enzo only laughed, taking a step closer to him, “Armitage – did you know you have this distinctive way of pursing your lips after you lie.”

Enzo’s weapon flew out of his hand, smashing into the floor between them. Enzo’s eyes narrowed on something over Hux's shoulder. Hux didn’t want to confirm the source of the disturbance. But turned anyway to see Ren striding into the cantina, his hand on the lightsaber hooked on his belt and the other upraised, no doubt from the gesture he had used to disarm Enzo. Hux used the temporary distraction to pull his own blaster from its holster.

Enzo took a step back as he shook his head, sneering at the blaster Hux was pointing at him, his arm unsteady from the pain.

“This was a trap,” Enzo said for the benefit of everyone present, still acting like he was in a holovid. Hux said nothing; it didn’t matter what Enzo thought now and there was no use in Hux denying anything. With Kylo Ren at the door Enzo’s version of events seemed truer than any of Hux’s intentions.

“I’m no fool! I prepared for this,” Enzo said as several human patrons of the cantina rose from their chairs and closed in on them with blasters drawn. Hux wasn’t sure where to aim but the decision was made for him when a wave of Ren’s hand sent him flying to the ground. The crackling of a lightsaber drowned out the groan that came from his lips.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, sparing a glance at the flashes of red moving over his head. Blaster shots were suspended mid-air — some aimed at him, some at Ren. An invisible weight seemed to keep him in place against the sticky floor where a pocket of empty space insulated him from the mayhem. He wondered if the thick smell of blood was his own or whether it came from the bodies piling around him. Now that the faces were on the ground beside him he could recognize some of them: other First Order officers who had defected over the past months. How had he missed seeing them before?

He closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting towards the ceiling. Maybe Enzo had been right, but it wasn’t that he didn’t like to think for himself – it was just often in his best interest not to. Look where it had led him, wounded on a grimy cantina floor. Normally at this time he would be overseeing weapon and supply acquisitions. He’d be on his fifth cup of caf for the day, counting on the jolt of caffeine to get him through the rest of his shift.

Ren’s hands didn’t shake as they hauled him up off the floor despite the staggered breaths echoing from his mask. The world tilted as Hux’s feet left the ground and he was suddenly looking into the folds of Ren’s robe through half-lidded eyes. He tried to remember where they were but the swaying motion distracted him; the steps Ren was taking were wide, like he was stepping over puddles. Hux heard what sounded like a curse leave Ren’s lips before the blackness pressing on his temples swelled over his thoughts.

When he regains consciousness, he’s on a shuttle, laid out on the cot in the back. Ren is in his face yelling about keeping his hand pressed against his arm before disappearing to the front. He does what Ren asks, his fingers gripping his bicep in spite of the pain. Hux wonders if this _had_ been a trap for Enzo. If he’d left the coordinates for Ren — some cruel part of his subconscious subverting his one effort to be human. Ren is moving the controls up front, everything happening too slow — like they’re underwater. Hux takes a gasping breath just to be sure he can.

Only now does he wonder if Enzo is dead but decides not to care. People aren’t who we remember them to be. By that same logic, Enzo’s opinion of him--past and present--is also invalidated.

“Am I predictable Ren?” he says out loud just to be sure, though his eyes are closed. There’s no way that Ren hears him as blaster fire pelts the shuttle and the engine sputters beneath them.

When Hux wakes up again, his hands are reaching for his arm before he can remember why. A bacta patch is wrapped securely over the wound on his bicep. It is a relief, but a minor one. He recognizes that he’s still on the shuttle. Darkness is spilling through the viewports, the dimness of the glowpanels above are causing shadows to pool on the floor. He sits slowly, trying to will the day’s events to come back to him.

“Stay there,” Ren orders when he walks through the shuttle bay door, closing it with a wave of his hand. The entire shuttle shakes from the impact. It’s disorienting because Hux had been sure they were in space. Only now do the trees outside the viewpanel become visible to him. Ren’s helmet is off, his gloves removed, and he’s clutching several tools in his fist.

“Where—”

“What the hell is going on?” Ren yells, his eyes blown open. He walks towards the pilot’s chair, then stalks back to the door like he can’t express the energy of his anger with words alone.

Hux opens his mouth for a second then looks down, unwilling to meet Ren’s gaze. “It’s not your concern,” he says weakly and he doesn’t blame Ren for laughing.

“I uncovered your flight trajectory — your classified _meeting_ — that no one — not your top Lieutenants could tell me anything about. Not out of loyalty, but general _ignorance_.” Ren’s voice is getting higher and louder with every word. And Hux isn’t sure why he wants to tell Ren some version of the truth. But the words feel rancid inside of him and he stares instead at the jacket he’d put on this morning, crumpled beneath a bulk head, his blood not even visible on the black fabric.

When he looks up, Ren is dragging a hand through his hair, the dark waves falling back around his cheeks, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “You’re here to defect? After everything you’ve worked for?”

“Don’t be ridiculous” Hux says, throwing his feet over the edge of the cot and leaning forward, pretending to examine the pad on his arm. As if Ren knows half of what he’s worked for.

“So tell me then. What _is_ going on here, General?” Ren is standing in front of him, his hands curled into fists at his side. “You’ve been shirking your duties for weeks. And today I find you sharing a drink with the leader of an anti-Sith resistance group out of uniform.”

“I’m having a hard time remembering when I started answering to you,” Hux says with unmasked contempt.

“Let’s start with where I saved your life back there.”

“You’re awfully loyal to someone you’re convinced is a traitor,” Hux says standing now, holding his bandaged arm for affect. If Ren thought he was defecting, then where were the binders, the Stormtroopers waiting to take him into custody. Plus, the lack of rescue shuttles told him Ren hadn’t reported his intentions before leaving the ship. “Maybe I should question _your_ motives Lord Ren.” It was a weak defense, but there wasn’t much else he could cling to given the circumstances.

“We’re stranded here—” Ren begins, throwing a hand against the side of the shuttle. “Our thruster engines are shot and all comm frequencies leaving the planet are being scrambled.” Hux looks back at the tools Ren had carried in with him. He’s surprised that Ren knows how to do anything resembling manual labor, though he supposes he shouldn’t be given his past. Ren’s petulant voice snaps his attention away from the hydrospanner in his hand and back to his face: “I refuse to continue with repairs until you disclose your motivations.”

“You seem to have it figured out.” Hux’s blue eyes are hard as he stared Ren down. “I’m here to join forces against the Sith. Although I don’t know why we recruited a whole group of us.” He raises an eyebrow, looking at Ren with a bored expression before continuing. “It seems that an errant shot to thruster engines can incapacitate someone with even your power.”

Ren stormed towards him, grabbing his collar and shoving him against the shuttle, the back of Hux’s head connecting with the metal hull.

“Do I need to remind you of the power of the Force?” Ren yells, in a display that Hux would normally scoff at. But he was raising his hand towards Hux’s forehead, the unmistakable maneuver that he had had observed countless times over their years together in the First Order.

The word _no_ barely formed in his mind before he pushed back against Ren’s grip. But the intrusion into his mind was a blinding pressure, his eyes screwed shut trying to resist — even as Ren peeled his memories back with ease.

 _Hux_ _sees himself at_ _sixteen years old_ _climbing_ _off a speeder, reaching out a hand to Enzo as he jumps down. He scuffs his boots as they climb onto the roof of a crumbling Empire base. They’re passing a glass bottle of alcohol between them,_ _Enzo’s_ _eyes staring at the horizon that stretches over the tree line._

 _Hux_ _is telling him he’s leaving the Academy with his father the next day._ _Explaini_ _ng with measured words that their relationship is over. Hux wonders, as he watches Enzo’s expression fall, what else he’d expected of him. Why he thought they’d come here tonight._

_He’d hoped they might have both come to the same conclusion — the facts of their lives undisputable and unchangeable. But Enzo later requested an assignment on a far-off outpost and Hux wouldn’t see him again for years._

_There’s a disorienting whirl of color and he’s younger still, in his Academy uniform, standing_ _very_ _still as Enzo’s lips press against his, his back to the metal frame of his bed. It feels like an act of defiance too big to name. He hears his younger self musing — “so this_ _is what my_ _lips_ _are for” — the warmth traveling to his temples in a drunken_ _sort of_ _way as he pulls the other boy closer. It’s disorienting being able to feel what is happening to his body even though he’s standing outside it, watching his past from a distance but feeling the memory while it happens._

_Then there’s a sudden flash and Hux is his adult self, bent over the desk in his quarters — shoulders sore from pouring over data schematics — his thoughts wandering to the report that had come through earlier in the day about the defectors._

_He doesn’t want to_ _think_ _about morning — the cup of tea that is never strong enough, avoiding his own pale eyes in the mirror while combing his hair_ _meticulously_ _back_ _._ _He’s_ _pacing the length of his quarters, the hollow look on his features, something he had always suspected but_ _can_ _now_ _clearly_ _see._

 _Then he’s back at the table in the cantina. He’s_ _impassively_ _accepting Enzo’s damning assessment of him. All the while wondering if he will touch him, if he’s_ _going to_ _thank him for the warning, if Enzo_ _can_ _help him remember_ _something_ _about himself that he was sure he once knew._

Hux’s eyes snap open, flat with rage. A look of surprise, softness, and something else that Hux can’t put his finger on passes across Ren’s features. That doesn’t stop him from shoving Ren away and punching him with all the strength he can summon. Ren staggers from the impact, his hand touching the blood worming its way out of his nose with a kind of deserving acceptance.

“Satisfied?” Hux means to shout, but it comes out as a harsh whisper. Ren only clamps a hand down on Hux’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking until the warmth spreading beneath Ren’s palm steadies him.

Hux sucks in a breath as he finds himself again knocked back by the flood of images and light. It takes him a moment to realize that they aren’t in his memories this time.

 _He’s_ _watching an unmasked Ren storm down a hallway of the Finalizer,_ _frantically_ _overriding the security code_ _to Hux’s_ _quarters. Ren strides over_ _to Hux’s_ _desk_ _, picking up a_ _datapad_ _and flipping through it with a growing sense of dread as he pieces together where_ _he_ _is._ _He’s_ _sure he can’t be defecting, something about how_ _neatly_ _his_ _coat_ _is hanging over the back of the_ _desk_ _chair tells him that much._ _He_ _reaches his hand down to brush against the collar of the_ _coat_ _, worry evident on his face._

_The shot glass Hux had drank from before leaving was still sitting next to the half-empty bottle of Corellian brandy on his desk. Ren puts the bottle to his lips and takes a shallow sip, his mind racing with possibilities. Even if Hux is defecting, he decides, he’ll stop him – talk him out of it somehow – even if he has to pull him out of the cantina by force. The alcohol burns on the way down as the betrayal mixes with a darker sense of jealousy and possession._

Hux is thrown out of the memory and back into Ren’s dark eyes in front of him on the shuttle. His gaze lingers over the mystery of Ren’s features, struggling to understand what Ren was trying to show him.

“We don’t have to feel incomplete,” Ren says, the words so quiet that Hux feels like every tree outside the shuttle is bending closer to hear his words.

Then Ren leans down, pressing their lips together with a softness that Hux wouldn’t have believed he was capable of. There’s an immediate sense of relief that spreads through him when he can feel the warmth of Ren’s lips. He isn’t sure what else he had expected.

Ren pulls back, his eyes carefully scanning Hux’s own. Hux gets the overwhelming sense that this is something Ren has been wanting to do for a long time. As Ren’s hand drops from his shoulder to his back, pulling him closer, Hux surrenders to his touch. But in the recesses of his mind, he’s already installing barriers between them. If he wants me, Hux tells himself as the world softens around him, it’s because he doesn’t really know me.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to Tathrin (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tathrin/pseuds/Tathrin) for all her hard work making general edits -- but especially for fixing my Star Wars universe inaccuracies!


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